


invisible light

by KaleidoKai



Series: the prompts that were promised [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angsty Jon, Cousin Incest, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Post-Canon, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-16 21:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14174133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaleidoKai/pseuds/KaleidoKai
Summary: It's just a smile, he told himself.Except there was no 'just' about it.





	invisible light

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> This is for the tumblr prompt: 
> 
> ‘Jon is jealous seeing another man made Arya smile for the very first time and later confronts her about it.’
> 
> I’m horrendously late with this, so it’s a little short but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

_It's just a smile._

He sat on the high table with a deep frown, watching the realm’s lords dine and drink below. Clustered in groups and donned in the dark clothes of winter, they reminded him of wilted petals, decaying and aged. It was unkind of him to think so, but Jon's mood had darkened immeasurably, and he found there was little in him left to care for basic courtesies.

It was Bran's idea anyway. A grand feast was thrown; lords and ladies across the land invited to celebrate the coming of spring and as a show of gratitude for their support of the boy King. Jon hadn't minded so much when it was first conceived. Winterfell had dwindled into a world of ghosts and darkness - whispers of summers long passed, of running feet and ringing laughter, of promise and family and  _her._ It clung to the walls like creeping vines, festering in the holes and the wounds and in every breath of its inhabitants. It needed life. It needed laughter. So Jon had readily agreed to help arrange it. 

_It's just a smile._

It would take moons. The North was still frozen, locked under mountains of snow that were only beginning to melt away. Bran had invited every Great House in Westeros, at least, those that remained. And then there was the food to consider - the scarcity of resources was no longer a burden and they could afford to indulge, albeit sensibly. That in itself would take weeks of preparation, so Jon had thrown himself into the work, hoping that in helping his younger brother, he wouldn't feel the keen absence of  _her._

And Gods, did he feel it. He felt it in the mornings, when he woke up swearing he could hear her laughter in his ears. He felt it as he walked through the corridors, almost seeing her darting about, avoiding her mother and the septa as she escaped her classes once more. Time was frozen around him, or perhaps he was trapped in a snapshot of the past. It was as if the world was holding its breath in anticipation, just as he was. Waiting for her to come home. 

And then she did. 

_It's just a smile._

It had been everything he had hoped for. Where there had once been a ghost, stood a woman of haunted eyes and scarred skin. But there she stood. And she had smiled at him. It had set him on fire, melting away the darkness and dragging the sun across the sky until it illuminated everything it touched. In that moment, winter seemed to ebb away like the tide, leaving behind golden sands and the incoming spring. Arya had come back to him, and Jon had almost forgotten what it meant to be without her. He was finally content. 

Until he wasn't. It had been little things in the beginning. A skipped meal here. A short conversation there. He told himself she'd been through hell and crawled her way back - that she needed time. If she wanted space, he'd give her that. There wasn't anything he wouldn't give in a heartbeat.

But the skipped meals turned into days without seeing her, and Jon found that wherever he was, she'd always be half a mile away. And if they did accidentally collide, she'd wear a face devoid of emotion where once it had been full of love and admiration. Initially, he'd just assumed it was Arya reconnecting with the world, that she was slowly letting people back in, bit by bit. It had stung even then. He had hoped he was the exception, that they'd be just as they were almost immediately. 

But soon, he'd learnt she spent afternoons with Bran in his solar. Or playing with Rickon in the yard. Or even writing Sansa in the Vale. She'd opened her heart to every one of them, had allowed them back into her warmth whilst he was stuck frozen outside. 

He hadn't even seen her smile since she'd returned to Winterfell. 

His first reaction was to blame himself. It had to be his Targaryen blood. She no longer saw him as a brother and felt little need to spend time on someone who was not a wolf, not a Stark, not her pack.

His second reaction was to blame her. He'd  _died_ for her, and she still couldn't give him the time of day. What sort of woman could be so cold? They said the Starks were bred from winter, but this - this was icier than a White Walker’s blood. 

His third reaction was to blame the world. It had stolen his heart and mocked him with its corpse. This wasn’t the Arya he wanted, the one he’d prayed for. 

He didn’t know who this Arya was now. 

And it was this thought that had him deep in his wine before Bran had hardly finished his speech. His head was already pounding from the music bouncing off the walls. Peering over the edge of the cup, he’d been observing the swirls of laughter and silks spinning on the floor when he saw her. 

Standing amidst the crowd, clad in grey breeches but somehow looking grander than the gaudy dresses around her, was Arya. She was gazing up at a man with dark hair and bright blue eyes, a brilliant smile on her face as she laughed at something he said. 

It was just smile. It should have been just a smile. Except there was no ‘just’ about it. 

It was the kind of smile that waged wars and burnt cities to the ground. A smile like scattered stars of a divine night, twinkling in the distant. 

A smile like coming home, at long last. 

She’d given it to him, once. And he’d kept it as a precious memory, something sacred and loving and only _his_. 

Not anymore, it seemed. 

He angrily pushed himself away from the table and swayed to his feet. Bran looked at him in alarm, and for a brief moment, he considered apologizing to his brother-king, of swallowing his pride and sitting back down to enjoy the rest of the feast. 

But he was blinded by rage. It wasn’t fair. Who was this other man that earned a smile Jon had practically died for? Who was he to worm his way into a heart that had turned to stone the moment Jon reached for it? 

To his horror, tears pricked the edges of his eyes, and he whirled on his feet to flee before anyone could witness his weakness. He sprinted away from the bustling hall, the echoes of laughter morphing into jeering calls that snapped at his heels like hounds from hell. 

 _‘You already know the truth, Lord Snow,’_ a voice sneered at him, sounding remarkably like Thorne. _‘She’s lost to you forever. Bastards don’t get happy endings.’_

 _‘I’m not a bastard,’_ he sneered back, _‘And I found her once. I’ll find her again.’_

He had died for her, had lived for her, had fought for her. Jon had carved her into his stars, and he would not settle for watching them fade into the distance. He’d build their happy ending from scratch if he had to, but he had no intention of finishing their story like this just yet. 

And so, after hours spent walking in circles around Winterfell and the godswood, he found himself pounding on Arya’s door. 

She opened it almost immediately, her hair falling freely from her loose braid, eyes bright like fallen stars in the soft candlelight. “Jon?” she asked, startled. “It’s late. What on earth are you doing here?” 

Without asking, he pushed his way into her room, noting with relief that she was alone. He wasn’t sure what to expect anymore. Spinning on his heel, he saw hesitation flicker on her face before it smoothed out into the frosted canvas he was desperate to shatter. “You smiled at him.” 

Arya stared, bemused. “I’m sorry, what?”

He tried not to sound sullen, but it still came out as a whine. “You smiled at him,” he repeated. “You never smile anymore, but you smiled at _him_. Why?” 

Her mouth twisted and she turned her head to avoid looking at him. “You’re being stupid. It’s not a big deal.” 

“It is to me. I deserve an explanation.” 

She spun back to him, narrowing her eyes as her gaze filled with flames. “I don’t need to explain myself to anyone,” she seethed. “Am I not allowed to smile at any man I choose?” 

Her response ignited a wave of fury in him, burning in his blood. He half-wondered if this is what the Targaryen madness felt like, but he could do little to stifle it. “What have I not allowed you, Arya?” he snapped. “You do whatever you wish, and I’ve never said a word.” He took a step closer. “You wanted space, I gave you space. You wanted time, I gave you time. You’ve hardly spoken to me in _weeks_ , and I never said a word. So yes, you owe me an explanation. I’m not leaving without one.” 

His chest heaved as they fell into silence, the whisper of the wind against her window echoing loudly in the room. He was staring at her in mute anticipation, his heart hammering in his ribcage, fueled by anger and hurt.

She stared back, quiet and contemplative. Her eyes, that had been flashing with righteous anger, were strangely empty. Like the carcass of a drained ocean, once brimming with life, but now sat hollow. 

When she didn’t respond, his heart slowed to stillness, weakened and crushed. 

He almost turned away when a hand darted out to grab his wrist. It was warm, burning almost. The ice queen had fire in her touch, yet. 

“You truly want to know why?” Arya whispered harshly with more intensity than he’d ever seen before. “You’ll hate me for it.”

”Try me,” he said simply, though fear shot through him. Did she think he was capable of hating her? His heart had already endured so much - he didn’t think it could survive much more. 

She swallowed with difficulty, suddenly letting go of his wrist to walk towards her vanity. Sitting down in front of it, she picked up the thin sword resting gently on the table, his gift from years ago. Needle. He didn’t think she had it anymore. The sight sent a rush of affection through him. 

“It started while I was in Braavos,” Arya whispered, more to the sword than to him. “I missed you so much, it _hurt_. I couldn’t let you go, so I could never really let Arya Stark go. I failed at being a Faceless Man because I loved you too much. I failed at being a sister because I didn’t love you like a sister should.”

Jon stood immobile, afraid of breathing too loudly, afraid of shattering the moment. 

She inhaled a shuddering breath. “I think that’s when I realized just...just how much you meant to me. And then seeing you again, I-I didn’t know what to do.” Her face turned crimson, shame filling her cheeks and she looked away again. She seemed so vulnerable in that moment, the cold charade shattering so violently, it shook him to his core. He suddenly wanted to hug her.

Jon stepped towards her, utterly lost. “Arya,” he said, quietly, “you should have told me this sooner. I’m still me, nothing would have changed.”

He’d anticipated a lot of reactions in that moment, but anger was not one of them. 

“You don’t get it!” she cried, whirling towards him. “I _love_ you, but not the way I used to. It’s so, so wrong, but I can’t help it!” She threw her hands in the air, fervently pacing the room. “I thought if I kept my distance, you’d never know the truth and maybe I wouldn’t disgrace myself. I’m finally home, I didn’t want to ruin anything. But I still did,” she sniffled, “you hate me now.” 

Jon made a strangled noise and tried to interrupt but Arya was lost in her frenzied thoughts, ignoring him completely. 

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I couldn’t just leave Winterfell. But then Gendry showed up and he offered to let me stay with him and his half-brother at Storm’s End and I thought this was my chance to go before I caused too much damage and -“ 

Her words sliced his heart open and he reached out to grab her arm in alarm. “No,” he said simply. “You’re not leaving me. You can’t.” 

She looked up at him sadly, tears spilling in her eyes. “I can’t stay here, either. I don’t think I can bear it much longer.” 

Jon didn’t know what else to say, couldn’t verbalise the hurricane of thoughts and emotions spinning through his head, so he pulled her close instead. Leaning down, he clasped her head between his hands, closed his eyes, and gently pressed his lips against her forehead. 

In that innocuous touch, he hoped she could feel it. Feel the whispers of promised kisses, the soft blooms of longing, the tides of endless love that never stopped crashing against his heart. It was a love that had no form, had no limits; that no matter what name she thought it held, it was love in its definition: entirely for her, in every shape, in every form, in every heartbeat. Like invisible light, it was everywhere at once - forever, whether she could see it or not. 

 _Yours,_ that touch said. _Always_.

He pulled back and opened his eyes to see her smiling at him.

This was their happy ending. 

**Author's Note:**

> And so ends version 8372749 of Jon-knocks-on-Arya’s-door-and-feelings-ensue. 
> 
> Comments and reviews are cherished, as always! ❤️


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